


Flawed Chemistry

by HPFandom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Drama, Explicit Language, F/M, Gen, Multi, Romance, Sexual Content, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-02
Updated: 2006-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-29 19:58:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10142801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HPFandom_archivist/pseuds/HPFandom_archivist
Summary: Hermione Granger has finally done what everyone else has said was impossible to do but was it worth the cost?





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from SeparatriX, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [HP Fandom](http://fanlore.org/wiki/HP_Fandom_\(archive\)), which was closed for health and financial reasons. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [HP Fandom collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hpfandom/profile).

_**Flawed Chemistry**_  
Pairing: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape  
 **Category:** Angst, Hurt/Comfort, drama, future-fiction, first-time  
 **Rating:** FRM  
 **Warnings:** None thus far. Unbeta'd.   
**Summary:** Hermione Granger has finally done what everyone else has said was impossible to do but was it worth the cost?

**Story Notes:** This is set post-Hogwarts, after the trio has finally graduated. There will be little to no mention of the events in any of the books but I do try to stay as close to canon as possible. Also, for every "real" chapter there will be a connecting half-chapter that will either be an a. diary entry, b. journal entry, or c. letter. Sometimes they will tie into the chapter, other times they will be entirely independent of it. It's up to you to distinguish which is which.

**Author's Note:** This is, officially, my first attempt at writing a Hermione-centric fan fiction much less a Hermione/Snape one so be warned. I won't deny that, in all likelihood, the main characters will be out-of-character or, at the very least, different from what you'd expect but I did try (who could ask for more?). Most of the beginning chapters are shorter than that of later ones so please, try not to throw too many flames my way about chapter length. Also, any grammatical mistakes are my own and I'd more than appreciate them to be pointed out to me, just...be gentle. It's my first time ;)

****

_'Brilliance is oft mistaken for madness and madness for brilliance.' - unknown_

_**Part 1** _

The potion had been done for over an hour. It’s ruby red gelatinous mixture mute testimony to the amount of time and effort spent into its preparation and bottling. Said bottle sat quiet and innocuously on top of the jutting stone laboratory table that had been erected some centuries ago.

Hermione Granger tried to slow the hammering of her ever rapidly beating heart; she could feel it pounding through her veins; taste it in her mouth till she was nauseous and cold. She flexed her fingers. God, she couldn’t believe this.

After all this time, after all her work -- She’d done it. She’d actually done what she’d set out to do. It was here, now, in the laboratory sitting on the stone table she’d spent practically ever single moment of her life these last few months. 

I did it. She thought, curling her fingers into her palm. They were raw, chapped from months of exhausting work. The tips were tinted black from over exposure to volatile herbs and other noxious mixtures that would have sent any other less dedicated worker packing. _I did it. No one else but me. Hermione Granger. I did what no one else could._

But at what cost? 

That was a question that floated around her subconscious for some time now. At what cost had she spent the last 18 months of her life, locked away in a dungeon with nothing but an occasional house-elf to keep her company? 

I don’t know. _I don’t know._

The blonde hung her head, feeling the prickle of tears sting her blood shot eyes as she closed them. She lifted her hands, pressing her deadened fingers clumsily against her face as the tears began to fall. Her lashes had long since been singed off, her hair hung in greasy clumps from where the fumes had done the gradual task of stripping the vitamins and minerals from deep within their roots and her lips were cracked and chapped, blistered beyond repair. 

Even her senses were waning; smells were now a stifled kaleidoscope, colors too much for her damaged retinas to bare, touches were muted echoes and tastes…she had none. 

_But I did it._

Yes, she’d done it. But, at what cost?


	2. 18th, June

**Part 1 ½**

Exert from the diaries of one Hermione Granger:

**18th, June**   
_  
It’s barely been a month since we’ve graduated from Hogwarts and I hardly know what to do with myself. Ron and Harry say I’m being ridiculous. “You’re so good at everything, ’Mione. You can do whatever you want.”_

_I wish that were true. They think that just because I got Excellent on all my exams and even ranked first in all but two of my classes (Potions and DADA. I was ranked #2 after Draco in Potions, but that’s no surprise and also ranked second in DADA after Harry but, that really isn’t a surprise either. He did kill the Dark Lord.) that that means I can just jump in and do whatever I want. It’s just not that simple._

_I have so many positions open to me. I have so many job offers I can look into. Even Dumbledore has offered me a teaching position at Hogwarts. (I haven’t had the heart to tell Ron that, though. He still holding out on the hopes I’ll go into Ministry work with him.) It’s all so much. There are so many possibilities of what I can do in my life that I find myself coming up with the same answer every time: wait._

_Just wait._

_Everyone is so supportive, though. I almost feel bad. Mom and Dad have told me I can take as long as I like to decide what to do. They said that they’re just so proud of me and they wouldn’t dream of pressuring me because they know I’ll make the right decision._

_I think that’s worse than if they were pressuring me. I can’t disappoint them. I can’t disappoint anyone. They all have so many hopes for me, I’m not going to let them down._

_I’m not.  
_


	3. Part 2

**Part 2**  
-Work Needing to Be Done-

Seconds blurred into minutes and minutes into hours but still the figure sat hunched over, face in hands, weeping quietly. Barely a meter away, still sitting in the same place it had been in for over an hour now, was a potion that even the most highly skilled Potion’s Master had claimed to be impossible to make. But yet, there it sat.

Hermione Granger chocked on a faintly hysterical laugh, curling her fingers down until her faded, sleep weary brown eyes stared over her peeling knuckles at the vial. Another crackling laugh bubbled in her throat as a new patch of tears leaked down her face, leaving streaks along her dirty cheeks.

The potion was actually done! 

Pulling her fingers down, she pressed them against her mouth, barely restraining a grimace when they cracked and began to bleed; they had done so many times over these last few months. The young witch’s mind swirled with half-formed ideas and possibilities. What else did she need to do? What else could be done? 

_There’s nothing. Absolutely nothing. I’ve done it all._ She thought, eyes straying quickly to the neatly stacked pile of notes and journals that had kept her company during the time she’d been down here, in the very bowels of her own choosing. There was even a thoroughly outlined, comprehensive paper, numbering over fifty pages about her experimentations and inevitable findings that she had begun to compile over a week ago, when she realized she was so close to finishing. 

There was only one step left to take; one final action that she’d been working towards during all the time she’d been here: come out of these dungeons and inform the world of what she’d done. Of what she, no one else, had accomplished. 

“Oh, god.” The young witch whispered, her disused vocal cords making her voice come out scratchy and several full octaves lower than she remembered. A spike of fear wedged inside her, turning into a cold pit in the bottom of her stomach. Merlin, why was she suddenly so frightened? So absolutely terrified?

_Because you haven’t left this place for more than a year. Because, the last time you breathed in clean air, you were still thinking that this was going to be one of the best and most defining moments of your life._ A coughing sob burst from her throat. _You were a fool._

Tremors were beginning to snake their way through her body, setting her teeth to chattering and pulse jumping. _You don’t even know for certain the amount of time that has passed since you first locked yourself in here. You’re only guessing._ Another hacking sob rose in her throat.

Had it really been so long? She wasn’t sure. After the first six weeks, things -- time -- had begun to blur. She’d stopped being able to tell day from night; night from day. By the time she’d begun skipping meals entirely, she hadn’t known how much time had passed from the moment she’d first locked herself in here and…now. 

_Get it together, Hermione._ She scolded herself, allowing her hands to fall into her lap even as the tremors persisted. _You can’t just fall to pieces. You do have things to do. Such as…  
_  
Biting her already bleeding bottom lip, Hermione forced herself to her feet, quickly reaching out an arm to steady herself with the stool she’d been sitting on when her legs began to wobble. Obviously, she’d been on her feet for to long but now, now was not the time to indulge in rest. There were so many things to do. So many things she was just now realizing needed to be done. So many…

Lifting her steadying hand from off the stool, she felt herself totter for a moment, coming dangerously close to crashing to the ground or, worse, falling onto the table with the precious mixture she’d worked so hard on. _Come on, Granger._ She admonished herself. _You can do this. You haven’t come this far just to accidentally knock the blasted thing over. You just need a few moments to regain your footing and in the mean time, you can call Tebby._

Wobbling once more, she nodded. _Yes, Tebby._

Pressing her lips tightly together, she straightened her posture as much as her knocking knees would allow and lifted her hands to pull out the chain around her neck. It was a simple design, silver, now tarnished from constant wearing, and no more decorative than that of any you’d see fastening a pocket watch into place. But, it wasn’t the elongated band that she desired; it was the opaque-sphere intricately fastened on it that held her interest.

Lifting it in her chapped, blackened fingers, she squinted at it, trying her best to make sure it was properly set. It was a nervous habit she had developed after days of exile in this place; if the pendant was not set or had in some way been damaged…

_I’d be stuck here._ She mused, feeling the usual flush of nausea swell through her even as she ran her fingertips over the sides of the device. Though her sense of touch had long since been diminished in her fingers and palms, the tell-tale notch in the fastening was still easy to distinguish. Thank Merlin.

Resisting the urge to bring the pendant to her lips for a relieved kiss, she carefully held it up to the faint glow of the ever-lasting candles she had lit more than a year ago. Lifting a shaking hand, she quickly turned the small sphere in its setting and turned once, twice then three times. There, that was it.

Hermione sighed. Now all she had to do was wait. Tebby usually appeared a few minutes after she had summoned him. 

_Thank Merlin for whomever had created house-elves._ She thought, carefully tucking the chain and its pendant back into the bodice of her tattered and dirty robes. The pendant was as much her creation as was the potion.

Having designed it just a month before spell-locking herself down here, its function was closely based on that of a portkey. Though, with a few significant differences. For instance, with three measured turns, the pendant was able to summon whomever the user wished; in this case being Tebby, a house elf the young witch had been forced to employ when she realized there were certain things she would not be able to do while concentrating on making the potion. 

Although, really, if Hermione were to admit to herself even, the house-elf’s job was practically insignificant since she had one, not summoned him for over a month and two, had very little for him to do with her not eating nor dirtying any place other than her lab. 

_I hope he’s able to get away._ She thought, her earlier excitement bubbling in her once again as she stared at the crimson concoction. She barely noted her shaking as she took a small step towards it. 

_I’ve really done it. I’ve really--_

Her musings were interrupted by the familiar “pop” that accompanied Tebby’s arrival. “Missus Granger call for Tebby?”

Hermione turned, a sudden urge to cry overtaking her. She’d never been so happy to see another living creature in her life, even one with leathery features and large bulbous eyes. “Yes, Tebby,” she rasped, “I did.”

“What would, Missus Granger, be wanting of Tebby?” 

“Tebby, I…” Her sore eyes drifted to the potion once again. “I did it. I actually did it.” Her voice, though already soft, was barely above a whisper. “I made the potion.”

“Tebby is happy for Missus Granger.” The house-elf replied, squeaky voice making Hermione winch.

“I…I, thank you.” She mumbled, stifling a sigh at the disappointment she felt at the house-elf’s reply. What had she expected? Cheers? A pat on the back? No, she hadn’t. Tebby probably didn’t even understand what she’d accomplished. 

_It’s not as though I ever really told him what I was doing._ She reasoned. It was true. Despite Tebby’s infrequent summons, no one knew, including himself, what Hermione had been working on all this time. It had seemed to risky, to unreal, to tell anyone before hand. That way, in the event that she hadn’t been able to accomplish her task, she’d be able to hide her shame. Not that, that was likely to happen since she absolutely had refused to leave this place until she‘d accomplished what she’d set out for. 

_Pride, it’s a killer._ She mused morbidly. Turning her head swiftly back, she gasped as black and white dots flashed across her vision. An startling rush of vertigo assailed her. God, she shouldn’t have turned so quickly.

“Missus Granger is all right?” 

Hermione shuddered, tottering on her feet. Snapping out a hand to try to steady herself, she closed her eyes. “I…I’m…fine…” She whispered, feeling herself totter again, hand barely catching the corner of the stool.

“Missus Granger?”

Swallowing at the rush of bile rising in her throat, she tried to open her eyes but was only met by more painful flashes. Cold sweat was beginning to bead across her forehead and she could feel her body begin shaking that much harder. 

“Missus Granger?”

“Tebby…” She whispered before meeting with a rush of cold and darkness.


	4. H. Granger - Day One

**Part 2 1/2**

H. Granger, Experimentation Journal - Day One

__

_**Item I** \- Began to assemble laboratory. (Must remember to research cleaning charms before the week is through. Cobwebs clogging the corners. Yech.) _

_**Item II** \- Order more supplies from Magical Mary‘s Herbal Supply. (Be sure to specify more powdered mug root, the last time there was only a table spoon and that looked a bit dodgy.)_

_**Item III** \- Try to contact Dobby about hiring a house elf. (Do NOT hire Dobby and be sure to bring him a lovely new pair of socks.)_

_**Item IV** \- Contact mum about supper next week with grandmum. (See if you can get out of it.)_

_**Item V** \- Research the clockwise and counter clockwise method used in ‘Potions: A Fine Art’ by Jake Brom. (Be sure that the clockwise/counter clockwise method won’t cause any volatile reactions.)_

_**Item VI** \- Spend time with Ron and Harry. (I’ve missed them.)_

_**Item VII** \- Wash laboratory robes. (They smell of sulfur!)  
_


	5. Part 3

**Part 3**   
-A Life Built on War-

The enchanted fire glowed warmly in the oversized hearth, its embers floating wildly in the air before disappearing into nothingness. It’s flickering orange glow cast strange, foreboding shadows against the darkened stone walls; making the room seem even more forbidding than it’s owner ever could. Of course, many would argue that point.

Professor Severus Snape sighed, shifting in his cushioned arm chair to try to find a more comfortable position though he very much doubted he would. His right leg was paining him again, and had been for nearly a week now. The turbulent weather of late was making it practically impossible for the man to be able to walk without his otherwise virtually none existent limp becoming more pronounced. As it was, no amount of masking with his robes could hide the distinct dip in his step as his walked.

The injury was a relatively old one, sustained during the last moments of the final battle. The memory of how he’d incurred it was a bit blurred, however; just a jumble of noises, flashes of gore and blood, the sickening snap of his wand and the painful twist of his legs beneath him. Days later, he had woken to find that, though he had been saved by one of the scouting wizards looking for still breathing wounded on the battlefield and that most of his wounds were superficial due to his magic assisting in healing, his leg had healed badly, wrong. It had taken a heavy dose of one of his potion’s, a re-breaking of the healed limb and then several months of recuperative physical therapy before his obvious limp had waned into something that was only noticeable if you were looking. Or if the weather was bad.

Severus pursed his lips sourly, the taste of bitter regret churning in his stomach before he thrust it aside. So much had been gained during that battle but even more, for himself at least, had been lost. What use was he now, if not a spy for the Order? He was nothing more than a burnt out old Potion’s Professor. Or so he’d heard several of the younger members of the order whisper to one another at the celebration feast days after the final battle. 

Gossip and incessant chattering had run rampant there. The young had laughed and drank, hopefully discussing what the future might hold for them and “quietly” discussing the older member’s futures behind their backs. The old had laughed and drank and soberly discussed what the future might hold…for everyone. 

Voldemort was dead, yes, but much had changed in the Wizarding World. It was not the same place it used to be. War had a way of changing things, people, in a way that no one would have ever dreamed.

Battle changed everything. For the good and for the bad. It was just a matter of opinion which was which.

Shifting in his chair again, the Potion’s Master let out an aggravated sigh, flexing and wiggling his toes as numbness began to set in. His circulation in his damaged leg was poor now and no amount of potions or magic would mend it; many a morning he woke to find his entire leg numb from hip to toe, forcing him to painstakingly massage the life back into it. 

A small price to pay for living through one of the worst battles the world had ever seen. But, nonetheless, worth a curse or two and, usually, the deduction of house points from some poor unsuspecting student in one of his Potions classes; usually a Gryffindor.

Severus pursed his lips again, fingers curling against the armrests. Yes, things did change but how they stayed the same.

After the last drink had been gulped down and the last scream of celebration had died out, no one at the celebration had thought of anything more to think about, to do, than to go home and sleep; begin their new life. Not Severus, however. He was going back to the scraps of his old life, to try to regroup and reassemble them into some kind of order. 

No one had realized that this was what he had to do. They had a new lease on life, a new hope, a new chance; Severus had nothing. His life was built on the building blocks of war; spying, subterfuge and strategy. The three ‘S’s of War; the three steps it took to win. 

No one had noticed then and still hadn’t today. Almost three years had passed but yet, here Severus was, still trying to rebuild his pathetic scraps of livelihood. Still trying to find his own little ball of hope in his afore bleak existence. He was beginning to suspect that he never would find it, though. His hopes had died just a surely as Voldemort’s remains had been burned and his ashes spell-cast into nothing.

“Incompetent fool.” Severus muttered to himself, disgustedly. He was alive, that should be good enough for the likes of him. After all, he’d spent years, decades, carefully making sure he kept his life intact and now he was unsatisfied. How very pathetic.

Shaking his head, black strands of hair gently slapping the sides of his face, the man moved in his seat, pressing his lips together in a hard line as sharp pains skittered across his leg. It was no use, he was never going to get comfortable. Even the warmth from the fire did nothing. He was just going to have to give up on any expectation he had of sleeping tonight. It was nearly the morn, anyhow. Or, very close to. He could certainly fill the intermittent hours with potion making as he did any night he wasn‘t able to rest.

Taking a deep, fortifying breath in, the robe clad figure braced his hands steadying on the arms of his chair and forced his self to stand, grunting with the effort. After much exertion and his leg tingling in soreness, as much he expected it to, he was finally on his feet. Allowing a brief moment of rest to catch his breath and become once-again steady of his own two feet, Severus stared into the fire, watching the flames dance as his mind ran over the list of potion’s he could prepare that would sufficiently wile away the hours left until daybreak. 

There were very few which he could make that didn’t require hours of preparation but the few there were would be complex enough to make, forestalling any thoughts that might pop into his head. And, at the very least, he would be able to have them in store should he be in need of them. Or should Madame Pomfrey, in turn, since most of the potion’s were of a medicinal nature.

_How very practical of you._ He thought shrewdly. Yes, Severus Snape was always practical. Always. That was what kept him alive for so long.

With another shake of his head, the Potion’s Master tested the strength in his leg before moving slowly around the edge of his chair and towards his potion’s lab. For a fleeting moment, the man mournfully wished for the days when he was able to move around these rooms or anywhere for that matter, with an agility that had been honed as a spy. But, that was another thought to be pushed aside. 

Shuffling slowly towards his laboratory door, Severus silently made his way inside, mentally listing all the things he would need before beginning. He never noticed the flickering flames of his fire or the odd colors and sparks coming from it.


	6. 23rd, June

**Part 3 ½**

Excerpt from the diaries of one Hermione Granger:  
 _  
 **23rd, June**_

_There are days, I have found, where you begin to wish that you had never gotten out of bed. Today was one of them. For me, at least._

_It started out with a trip to Diagon Alley. Mum said she noticed I had been a little depressed lately (small wonder since it seems since I can’t even begin to decide what I wish to do with my life) and that she thought maybe an outing would do me some good. Fat lot of rubbish that was._

_No, that’s rude to say. Mum had her heart in the right place and the outing wasn’t half so bad until we ran into Ron and Harry. They were so happy. Apparently, they were both fixing to go off to some sort of Auror training. Though, I think sending Harry off to it is a bit supercilious and silly but he seemed happy enough. I think this is his chance to just be for a while. He’s been so different since the war. Quieter, more reserved. Talks less and observes more but I can hardly blame him._

_I know that Ron notices that quietness about Harry, too. But, I think he chooses to ignore it. The war has changed us all so much. Harry, Ron, myself. Even my parents are a little different than they used to be._

_I still remember their horrified faces when I told them that what was coming; what the war would be like. I also remember what their faces looked like, what their tears looked like, when they came to get me from the infirmary after the battle. I hadn’t known then but they had been there, during the battle, helping with the wounded. They had seen so many wizards and witches fall. They had seen me fall and thought I was dead. Their only child, their little girl, dead because of some madman._

_We had all never cried so much since that night._

_Which is another reason why today was so harrowing. I really can’t let any of them down. I can’t turn to them and say, “I don’t know what I want to do with my life.”_

_I can’t do that to them. They’ve all been through so much. I can’t lay my problems at their doorstep. I can’t expect them to have the answers. I have to figure them out on my own, which makes it that much harder because I feel so alone in this._

_Alone and lost, with no one to turn to or to understand what it’s like.  
_


	7. Part 4

**Part 4**  
-Potion Making-

The smell of rotted fruit and chemicals permeated the air, wafting from one corner of the room to another as a cloud of iridescent gray smoke billowed from the inside of a cauldron. Its pewter surface was dull and lacked the glossy finish that most new cauldrons had nowadays; mute testimony to how often it had been used in recent months. One lone flame danced beneath the cauldron bottom, flickering from side to side magically so the cauldron’s contents would heat slow and evenly. 

The dark haired potion’s master sighed, pursing his lips as he dipped a wooden ladle into the bubbling contents; It was still too thin and a shade off the true vermilion it should be by now but he expected no less. After all, he was sadly lacking the proper amount of rosewater to continue and was beginning to severely wish that he’d had enough presence of mind to set some sort of limit to the amount of potion’s he’d brew through the night. 

As it was, there were three potions simmering on a low flame, still hours away from being finished, and another two, the one he was currently working on not withstanding, that would need at least an hour of cooling before being ready to be bottled. Another sigh escaped his lips as he shifted stiffly on his feet, face momentarily contorting as his leg gave a sharp twinge. He swallowed down the hiss of pain that wanted to escape ferociously, cursing himself twice the fool for making potions that kept him on his feet far longer than absolutely necessary.

Grimacing in disgust at his own fallibility, Severus let his eyes rove over his dungeon laboratory even as he continued to stir the bubbling concoction counter clockwise. This room was very much like any other room in the dungeons where he stayed: dark, dank and damp. Obviously not his first choice in accommodations but certainly the best for making potions in. 

There would never be any distractions here; never anything to get in his way or become ruined should something in the mixture react badly. In fact, most of the items he wasn’t currently using weren’t even stored directly in his private chamber’s laboratory despite what many believed. No, he much preferred to keep the stored elsewhere lest someone manage to make their way into his private sanctity, however unlikely that was. 

_Unlikely, yes_ , he mused, _but not entirely beyond the realm of possibility_. No, not entirely. In fact, Severus was sure that on more than one occasion someone, most assuredly Potter or one of the two nuisances that shadowed him all the way up until the end of the war, had been within these walls before. Funny how the violation of his privacy then barely bothered him now. In truth, very little of what the golden trio had done in times past bothered him now, not that he would admit it, even in death.

But in awkwardly charitable moments, Severus would admit, if only to himself, that those three weren’t entirely as…insufferable…as he’d always accused. Not to say that he liked any of them or wished to suddenly become friends. No, he would most definitely not go that far with his thoughts.

Scowling in revulsion at the sudden altruistic state of mind he had drifted into, the Potion’s Professor lifted the ladle from the soup-like mixture and stared at it for a moment, allowing slow drips of the liquid to fall back into the cauldron. 

_Much better_ , he thought with satisfaction. The fleshy pink color had darkened into a rosier hue and the fluid was becoming similar to a very thin porridge. Very good, indeed. 

Taping the dipper lightly against the side of the pewter cauldron to shake off the excess, he laid the spoon to the side and turned to stare at the black smoke that was beginning to churn out from a nearby cauldron. He cursed. Violently. Black smoke from a cauldron only meant one thing: a potion was about to be ruined.

Moving forward quickly, all the while cursing due to his inattentiveness and the pain shooting up from the soles of his feet to his hips, he rapidly tried to make right was going wrong so quickly. What an utter imbecile he was for allowing his mind to wander during such a delicate process! It was such an elementary mistake to make, he felt like hexing himself. This was something a first year would do!

As swiftly as his he could allow, fore if he moved too quickly the potion would unable to be salvaged at all, he pinched varying ingredients into the mixture hoping that he was not wasting the raw materials at hand however easily replaceable they were. 

“Damned and blast!” He muttered, ignoring the needle prickling pain that was pulsating from knee to hip. That sensation was beginning to become as familiar to him as breathing and he would not allow it to distract him now. 

Scooping a palm full of nettles into his hand, he dropped them into the potion, tensely waiting for the resulting reaction. If that did not set the potion right, it would most surely be ruined…

A relieved whoosh of air escaped him as, instantly, the concoction turned a creamy pale green color that very much resembled the pea soup the house elf’s made the previous evening for brunch. Thank Salazar’s ghost, he had not just wasted a potion’s worth of ingredients. 

Easily adjusting the flame, he allowed a hand to drop to his side and press against his aching hip joint. No doubt about it now, he would have to take a pain-reduction potion before he attempted to take classes today for fear that he’d curse one of the brats attending. Too bad that wasn’t allowed, pain or not, it would surely improve his mood.

_Well, at least that’s over with_. He thought dryly, eyes scanning over the rest of the simmering cauldrons. They were all well in hand, none billowing smoke they shouldn’t or bubbling too high. Thankfully. He very much doubted that he would be able to move quite so quickly next time. 

Or, perhaps he was wrong, since, with that thought, a resounding crash blared from within the other room, spurring him into a grunting pain-filled sprint.


End file.
